


The Loser

by rhoen



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/rhoen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Koujaku lost a bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loser

**Author's Note:**

> Well this insanity fell out my head in the early hours of the morning. Don't take it seriously. Actually, don't take it at all. It's probably bad for your health.

Koujaku cast a glance at the sofa and the stupid thing draped over it. He then rechecked the time. The others weren’t due for another twenty minutes. Yet again the tempting option of slipping away before anyone arrived beckoned, and Koujaku eyed the door wistfully. There was no getting out of this, though. Sure, it would be easy to leave relatively unnoticed – tall dark haired men wearing vivid red kimonos weren’t exactly ten a penny – but it would be obvious he had skipped out on the meeting, and his end of the bargain would still be unfulfilled.

Fucking Noiz. Just the thought of that smart-ass little brat made Koujaku’s temper flare. It was his goddamn fault. He was the one who provoked Koujaku into this – or at least into the dare which Koujaku had lost, resulting in this forfeit. He contemptuously eyed the offending garment several paces away, his penalty for losing. The last ten minutes had been spent with Koujaku putting the inevitable off as long as he could but now… he snatched at the damn thing, glowering at the time once more, and deciding just to get the first part over with.

Why Clear had a collection of dresses, Koujaku would never know – and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to. When the terms of the dare had been laid out, it was agreed that the loser would have to spend the first hour of their next drinking session wearing girl’s clothing, and Clear had enthusiastically offered something from his ‘collection’. After smacking Noiz round the head for a comment about how that would be just what he normally wore, Koujaku had been chastised by Aoba, and then the contest had begun. Badly. Much to Noiz’s delight and, Koujaku was convinced, Aoba’s amusement, he had lost. A gentleman never backs out of an agreement –so at first he’d argued that Noiz wasn’t a gentleman so the agreement was void. When that tact failed, he’d settled for trying to negotiate the location of their next group night out. It wasn’t unusual for them all to meet at Snafu – a busy bar with several private rooms upstairs where groups could meet and drink in what passed for peace in such a lively establishment. Once ensuring they would meet there, and satisfied that his humiliation would be confined just to the small group of… whatever they were… Koujaku had just accepted his fate.

No matter which angle the dress was held, it seemed overly complex. Twice Koujaku was sure he’d located the shoulder straps, only to find that the damn thing wouldn’t hang right when he held it up. It was a stupid purple thing, made up of layers of varying shades of material that did ridiculous and quite frankly irritating twists along the bodice. After no small amount of exasperation, Koujaku finally worked out how he was supposed to get into the thing.

Only… Did you step into these things like jeans, or did you pull them down over your head? Should he leave his jeans on? Shit.

Removing his obi and kimono, Koujaku finally decided that stepping into the thing was probably going to be easiest, and involved the least amount of swimming through fabric. Pulling it up, however, he found that his jeans got in the way and he nearly tore the dress. Not that he would have minded, but just the thought of Clear whining about it and Aoba giving him grief…

By the time he’d arranged the straps and loops of fabric and done up the stupid hard-to-reach zip (seriously, what the hell was wrong with dresses, couldn’t they zip at the front or something?), there were just under five minutes before the others would arrive. He wondered if they’d be early, looking forward to his humiliation.

Carefully folding his kimono and obi, Koujaku turned to set them to one side. The layers of fabric he wore were actually surprisingly warm, and a moment’s panic swept over him at the thought of being forced to remove his jeans as well. No. There was no way. It was just an hour; he would endure it.

From the noise outside the room drifting up from the bar below, Koujaku heard footsteps in the hallway. Shit. The bastards – or at least one of them, and he could take a fair guess as to who – were early. Turning to scowl at the door way, he crossed his arms, ready to face the onslaught.

Koujaku didn’t think he’d ever felt the blood flush to his face that fast ever in his entire life before.

“Uh… I…”

His mortification was beyond complete.

Standing in the doorway, eyes wide and capturing every detail of Koujaku, was Mizuki.

Koujaku would rather be dead. He watched in mute horror as his body did nothing but stand stock still, waiting for the earth to swallow him whole as he was gawped at.

“Uh… I thought that –ahem– some of my guys had, uh… headed up here.”

There weren’t any words Koujaku could even begin to string together to explain his current situation.

“I, uh… I guess they didn’t…”

As the Rib leader – seeming now equally as flushed and nearly as awkward as Koujaku, only with the ability to control his limbs – turned to head out of the door, Koujaku became aware of people approaching. The sound of coarse, manic laughter reached his ears before he even saw the trashy little shit, flanked by Clear and Aoba.

“Why you-“

The thing about dresses is that they come in many lengths.

Some, as Koujaku found out, aren’t so good for running at people in a furious outburst in.


End file.
